Sponsored by: The Varsity Fort Worth

Thursday, September 4, 2008

If that picture looks familiar, it shouldn't. It's actually from the future. It's a picture of the stadium this Saturday at about 6:15 pm, right after kick-off vs. Stephen F. Austin.

That's because TCU fans SUCK. Too many kids get to campus, having cheered for whichever college Mommy & Daddy went to, and don't have a mind to think for themselves. They see that TCU doesn't get a crowd of 80-90,000 like Texas or LSU, so they don't think it's worth their time to be part of the crowd inside the stadium at a TCU game. Instead, they put on their purple shirt and show up to the tailgate at about the time of the kick-off and stay there for about an hour before heading to some shithole of a bar like Snookie's.

Sure, playing a 1-AA team doesn't help attendance, but it is the home opener. But the TCU administration seems eager to feed the fan apathy by prohibiting alcohol at the student tailgate (nice job, maybe you should suspend our starting running back. Oh wait...).

Things are better now than my freshman year in the fall of 2001. Back then, they were announcing crowds of 30,000 when in actuality there might have been 15-18,000 in the stadium. Now we have slowly built our die-hard fanbase and are probably closer to averaging a legit 30,000, but that is still a sad figure for a team of the caliber of the Frogs.

Our program is making great strides in becoming the elite program we'd like it to be. We've got one of the best head coaches & coaching staffs in the nation, an ever-improving set of facilities and recruiting continues to get better and better. The only thing missing is a truly devoted fanbase.

The thousands upon thousands of empty seats this Saturday are going to speak much more loudly than the (hopefully) lop-sided score in favor of the Frogs.

So, who here likes LaDainian Tomlinson? Who likes the old school Flying T logo? WELL, thanks to ESPNshop, now you can have BOTH on the same jersey. I know everyone has seen the above jersey, but you've probably seen it in the "eeeehhhh do I reeeeally want this?" $79.99 money slot. No more! ESPNshop has dropped, make that SLASHED, the price to $19.99. There was very little hesitation on the part of myself and lyle lanley and I just wanted to spread the wealth. I realize that now that we're graduated there are very few acceptable jersey donning situations, but for this I'll definitely make the exception, maybe even work it into my wedding garb.

‘Sit down.’ ‘We can’t see the game.’ ‘I pay money for these seats.’ ‘I like Ike.’

You’re bound to hear it. You’re at a game. You stand up. You cheer. And, mostly, it goes by unnoticed.

Then, at some point, the grey-hairs in the back start bitching. And rightfully so. The way they see it, they didn’t see their buddies die face down in the Battle of Antietam so young whippersnappers in zoot suits could stand up and act all uppity.

You pay it no mind. You glance back. Finally, the smuggled sock-bourbon forces it out of you:

‘Listen old man, it’s 4th and 1. Either stand up and watch, or just imagine the shit like you did during the golden era of radio.’

And before you know it, you have General Longstreet’s superior officer coming at you with an AARP seat cushion like he’s Sonny Corleone by an open fire hydrant.

The fight will rage on for eternity.

You’ll never see eye-to-eye. And not just because he’s bent over like an on-duty prostitute. Because you’re from two entirely different worlds.

When you were in college, 50 Cent was a rapper. When he was in college, 50 Cent was a damn good salary.

9) Going back to campus and exaggerating how much ass you'd re-get in college

If you were still in college, you would get so much pussy.

You would smash ass at such an record-shattering pace that it would lead to televised Senate hearings. See that hot girl? You would tap it. That blonde? You would crush it. The curly-headed one? Your id just fucked the shit out of her id. Doggystyle.

‘Man, do you know what I would do if I were still in college?’

If you were still in college, parents would send their daughters to school with fucking wrought-iron panties. Dads would order their daughter's va-jay-jays to retreat to Helm's Deep to avoid being ransacked by the massive armies of your cock.

Never mind real life, and all the times you went home empty-handed and jerked it to Windows-Media-Player-porn.

Nevermind all the times you got shot down in front of the entire fucking bar, took home the fatty, or got too drunk to spit game and was turned down by an army of 3 A.M. Plan B’s.

Because if you could do it again, you would be fucking Pierce-Brosnan-with-the-cameras-rolling. Your dick would be so active, it would have a resume. You would fuck until '1-UP's starting popping up over your head. You would would fuck like Star Power.

Oh, and all the girls now are hotter than they were when you were there.

All of them. You have to say it. It's a rule. It has nothing to do with the fact that you’re used to working in an office all day with 35-year old women with tank asses and titties that look like Zip-loc bags full of water.

21 year-old girls now are hotter than 21 year-old girls were in the ancient bygone era of 1998-2002.

Uh huh. And you could bag them all.

8) Your girlfriend/wife questioning your sanity

Somewhere between the broken remote control and you shouting repeated obscenities at a 37”-inch Samsung LCD TV, it’s bound to happen.

‘You’re crazy.’

She’s right. You are fucking crazy. You’re bat-shit. And you know it. Then again, it’s the fall. 90,000 other people in hundreds of American cities go bat-shit every Saturday.

She just doesn’t understand. She’s a woman. And women are irrational. Women are so irrational they don’t understand why you spend 15% of your salary on season tickets and love your starting quarterback and hate your starting quarterback and love your starting quarterback and let the actions of 19 year-old strangers dictate your mood for one-fourth of the Caesarian calendar.

They just don't get it. Crazy bitches.

7) Deciphering incoherent message board code

'RTR.' 'WDE.' 'JFK.' 'FDR.'

WTF does any of this mean?

What in the name of monogrammed towels is going on?

No one knows, but in the midst of logging on to your team’s message board and trying to find legit info, you’ll want to find out. Because entering a message board as an abbreviation-virgin can be like the real thing: painful and confusing.

It starts out innocently enough. You log on in search of inside info on USC’s new 13-star quarterback signee. You click on a thread that catches your interest, and – boom – it’s like you’re playing scrabble with Gary Busey.

'LMAO.' 'ROTFL.' 'IMHO.' 'STFU.' If these aren’t the caps-lock ramblings of a deranged lunatic, well then just what in the fuck are they?

They’re message board abbreviations. And it’s college football season. So make like Nicholas Cage and decipher that shit ASAP.

What does all of this mean?

DLAMJFTSOFY.

(Don’t Look At Me Just Figure That Shit Out For Yourself.)

6) Breaking the spirit of the irritating small-school fan

You know that guy in your office, who invariably went to some non-BCS school, that’s more of an annoying cunt than Gilbert Gottfried in a full vagina outfit? You know, the guy who cheers for the impossibly mediocre program yet has unbearably high expectations at the start of every season?

“Man, I don’t know, I just have this feeling this year. If our transfer JUCO QB can come around and the 12 freshmen on our offensive line can step up, I think our brand-new inexperienced coordinator will have a lot to work with and it won't really matter than our only scholarship running back runs a 23-minute 40. Shoot, we might surprise some folks in the [insert conference of choice].”

No, you aren’t surprising anyone. Your team's mascot should be Danny Devito. Your favorite team is a legalized midget. And yet every year you display the same fuck-me-in-the-brain hope syndrome.

And last year only made things worse. Giving these assholes the parity-driven ‘07 season was like handing a homeless guy the keys to a non-existant Jaguar. False hope abounds.

At the start of the season, these small-time dreamers are more annoying than big-school blowhards.

But, come October, when their team is sporting a fat 3-loss lip, the bounce in their step has been replaced by cold, hard, satisfying reality.

If you have a state university coffee mug, this is the time to bring it to work.

5) Making hung-over Fantasy Football decisions

If you’re a true college football fan, you don’t give a proper fuck about the NFL. You watch it, you like it, you follow it. But you don’t really give a fuck about it. To true college fans, the NFL is like the show that came on HBO after a really good episode of The Sopranos. Just because it’s on your TV screen, doesn’t mean you care what happens.

And so, in the choice between Saturday night and Sunday morning, Sunday morning gets run over like a fleet-footed possum.

The after-effect of this concrete fact? Fantasy football shame.

Should you go with Marshawn Lynch against the Patriots D or go to the bathroom and puke straight vodka?

Did you sleep in? Did you get lucky last night? Were you two up until sunrise playing 'Tag, you're it' with your pants down? Good for you. Hope you enjoyed it. Because while she might have been the one getting pounded last night, once 12:00 P.M. strikes, it’s your turn Cinderella.

And in your sad state, you're fucked. Your clothes smell like the Zoo. Your hair smells like Afghanistan. You aren't fit to lead a group of men onto the football field. You aren't fit to lead a group of men to Waffle House.

And when you come around to your senses at 8:34 P.M. with your fantasy team down 42-116, you have only your college fanaticism to blame.

What were you thinking sitting Edgerrin James against the SF D/ST? Why did you think Eli Manning was a must-start against the BYE?

Because you didn’t know what the fuck you were doing, that’s why.

Because your left eye was shut like the door to George Wallace’s guest house.

Because you couldn’t see straight. Because you couldn’t see at all. Because your face looked like Rocky Balboa's at the end of Rocky IV.

Because you needed a bald sweaty black guy over your shoulder yelling “Start the one in the middle!” to even have a fucking chance.

Because either set your fucking fantasy line-ups during the week, or get Clubber-Langed. Fool.

4) Mooching the tailgate HD

There are some things that are just meant to be mooched. WiFi. Cigarettes. Domestic fridge beer. And campus-tailgate HDTVs.

You know. You’re tailgating it up in a grass field full of tents as far as the eye can see. You were too lazy to get into town early, but you know a buddy who knows a guy who knows a guy who has a tailgate. And an hour after you roll into to town, you roll by the tent.

The HD is just sitting there. Big, bright, shiny. Go ahead. Mooch it. Ask the score. Squint. Lurk. Who gives a fuck if you don't know the tent owner from Adam? That's not what's important here.

What's important here is that it's 6:48 left in the 4th and Ole Miss is about to go up on Georgia.

'Hey, does anyone know the Ole Miss-Georgia score?'

Yea, the guy with the giant fucking TV knows it. Now quit asking questions and go mooch the HD.

The owner of the HD wants you to mooch it. The HD itself wants you to mooch it.

It’s like a girl in a hoochie skirt at a nightclub. Do you think she spent all that time picking out her slut-gear and putting on her slut-gear and hiking-up her slut-gear and setting up her slut-gear... so that guys WOULDN’T stare at it?

Of course not. She wants you to stare at it. And not just one or two guys. Every guy who walks by it. She brought it out in public for that exact reason.

Sure, you stare at it long enough and she’ll turn around and give you a look. Don’t be fooled. She loves it. She loves the attention.

It’s the same way with tailgate HD. Mooch and mooch hard.

And before you start to feel guilty, remember, there’s nothing wrong with just lookin’.

The best way to HD-mooch is to just glance at a TV screen that’s naturally within your view/conversation. So long as you’re not stealing chairs, no one should give a fuck.

And if they do, fuck them. Keep staring. Or, just go find another one to stare at. There are plenty of fish in the HD-tailgating sea.

If a 37-incher wants to play hard-to-get, fuck that bitch. Go find a 40-inch.

But don’t just go for one just because you’re desperate. If there’s some box with fucking rabbit ears sitting under a near-empty tent, don’t just make a beeline for it, no matter how desperate you are for the Ohio State score. Use your fucking cellphone if you want it that bad. Or, just pound a few beers and say ‘Fuck it. TV’s TV.’ We’ve all been there.

Haven't found one yet? Relax. There’s bound to be a 47-inch HD beauty nestled somewhere in this grassy Saturday paradise.

Remember, alumni are rich as shit. How else do you think college football players make so much? Now go find you some damn HD.

Don’t sit here and fucking lie. Don’t even act, for one second, like you’ve never gazed into the handsome wonder that is Kirk Herbstreit’s face and thought ‘That guy gets more skirt-warmth during one commercial break than I got my Freshmen-to-Junior years.’

Go ahead. Stare. It isn’t gay. It’s actually quite the opposite.

Imagine showing up for work and your boss saying:

“OK (your name), what we need you to do today is to go to a college campus full of hot pussy and be good-looking on national television. Oh, and be sure to watch plenty of football, talk about plenty of football, and hang out with plenty of uber-famous football coaches. Anyway, here’s your hotel key and a few extra copies for any big busty sluts that happen to throw themselves in the general vicinity of your cock during the upcoming Thursday-Sunday time frame.”

You love you some Herbstreit. And please, no comments about the gelled hair. You aren’t fooling anyone. You’re jealous. You’d gel your pubes with hot kitchen grease if it meant taking Kirk Herbstreit’s job for 15 minutes.

Why do you think your girlfriend lets you watch College Gameday, you dense fuck? Because while you’re busy geeking out over which cartoon-animal-face Lee Corso is going to put on top of his head, she’s going for an imaginary ride on Kirk Herbsteit’s pelvis.

You think you’re jealous? How do you think other former mediocre Ohio State quarterbacks feel? How fucking pissed would you be if you were Craig Krenzel? While Herbstreit is out smashing on hot Big-12 puss, you’re sitting at home jerking it to the 2002 calendar year and having wet dreams about phantom pass interference calls.

Coming to movie theatres this fall: Being Kirk Herbstreit. ‘Three college-football fanatics find a secret portal to Kirk Herbstreit’s head and discover an endless world of fame, college football, and hot sex as they embark on a spiritual journey of vaj-pounding across ACC/SEC/PAC-10 country.’

2) Chastising Wal-Mart jerseys

Much like sixteenth-century Britain, in the world of college football, there are social classes. Hierarchies, if you will.

And grown men in Wal-Mart jerseys are the fucking indentured servants of college football fandom. Everyone looks down on them. And for good reason.

Because if you could afford season tickets, Miller Lite, a wife, and the gas money to get to your favorite college town, you can afford a real fucking jersey.

Not a fucking Wal-Mart jersey.

We all know Wal-Mart jerseys. Those hideous team-oriented nylon beasts ugly enough to double as a future throwback for the 2046 Cincinnati Bengals.

We all know them. And we all hate them.

For instance, there is perhaps no jersey in college football as simple and elegant as the white-on-red home uni of the Alabama Crimson Tide. And what better way to show your home-game allegiance to an old-school masterpiece than by trashing it up with white zebra stripes, 3D numbers, grey shoulder squares and D-cup-sized elephant logos?

No matter what your education-level, job-status, career, salary, athletic ability, talent, house-size, dick-size, primary-TV-size, or ass-getting ability, you may forever look down on anyone in a jersey purchased from the king of Everyday Low Prices.

You could be a janitor with a two-inch dick, a GED and a publicly visible STD, and so long as you’re a college football fan, you have total social permission to chastise any man in a Wal-Mart football jersey.

It doesn’t matter if he’s the CEO of the fucking Northern Hemisphere. His jersey looks like something a Chinese Rugby team would wear. To practice.

You could put the King of England in a Wal-Mart jersey and he’d immediately be labeled a redneck douche of epic proportions.

Wal-Mart jerseys. The college football equivalent of a fanny-pack.

1) ESPN will be out to get you.

ESPN hates you.

And more importantly, ESPN hates your team.

ESPN will go to any length to diss your team. Any length. You know that LSU coozie you used to have but can’t seem to find? ESPN took it. Because ESPN hates LSU. That is, if LSU is your team.

It has nothing to do with you being too passionately involved in both liking your team and hating other teams. ESPN just likes to fuck with your head. That's why when Mark May says something like 'LSU has question marks at quarterback. Watch out for Florida in this one' you get pissed. Sure, you just read the same thing in the Times Picayune. But the Times Picayune isn't ESPN - who clearly is having a love affair with Urban Meyer and the Gators while simultaneously throwing the LSU Bengal Tigers under the bus every chance they get.

Unless you're a Florida fan. In which case the time that Chris Fowler made that dig about Urban Meyer's 28-point loss to Alabama is clear evidence of an ESPN-wide plan to, in fact, shut the UF football program down.

Remember that time ESPN ran a story about your favorite player getting arrested? Nevermind that he actually did get arrested. That's bullshit. ESPN is bullshit. And it is obvious that, by running timely stories about factual events, ESPN is biased against your team.

If you love bread, ESPN is 'anti-sandwich.' If you hate end-pieces, ESPN will run a special about end pieces. Mark May will hold up two hard, crusty-ass end pieces and hype the shit out of them all year long. Bob Ley will run a special called ‘Outside The Loaf.’ Ivan Maisel will write a column with a pun-filled headline like 'The piece to the end puzzle' and mind-force you to read it and then email him in anger about it.

If you were for the Union, ESPN was for the Confederacy.

If you had a Sega Genesis, ESPN had a Super Nintendo. If you had a Super Nintendo, ESPN had Sega Genesis.

If you liked like Tombstone, ESPN liked Wyatt Earp.

If you preferred Use Your Illusion I, ESPN preferred Use Your Illusion II.